The
blue smoke hung among the pines, and the air was filled with the odor
of burning leaves. They passed a camp--a white-covered wagon, filled
with bags of chestnuts, two mules tethered to saplings, and three or
four forms in dusky blankets lying round a log fire. As the weird
procession passed, the mules drew back on their halters and threw their
ears forward, but the bodies at the fire did not stir.
In about twenty minutes the band reached a plateau covered with a
matting of heather. They went across it to the edge of a high
precipice. It was as perpendicular as a wall. Below lay the valley,
its forests of pines and cedars looking like a black lake in the clear
moonlight.
"Git down, men, an' let's 'tend to business an' go back home,"
commanded the leader. "I have a hankerin' atter a hot breakfast."
Everybody alighted except Westerfelt. The leader touched him with his
whip. "Will you git down, or do you want to be drug off like a saddle?"
"May I ask what you intend to do with me?" asked Westerfelt,
indifferently.
The leader laughed. "Put some turkey red calico stripes on that broad
back o' yorn, an' rub in some salt and pepper to cuore it up.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179